


we all have a hunger

by ironwoodsfairy



Series: Through the Oasis [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic, Full Disclosure - I tweak small bits of phrasing and word choice after posting. Forgive me., Hurt/Comfort, Illness, M/M, Sokka Has A Dominant Side, Zuko Has A Bratty Side, soft boyfriends, soup makes everything better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironwoodsfairy/pseuds/ironwoodsfairy
Summary: "A deep moan escaped Zuko’s chest as he tried to wrap his arms further over the muscled shoulders in front of him, and Sokka couldn’t stop himself from laughing before he pulled away, untangling their limbs as he went.'No no no, you need to eat.'Zuko scoffed, mussed hair in his eyes and a pout settling over his lips once more. 'Yeah, I’m trying.'"ORThe one where Sokka makes Gran Gran's version of a traditional five-flavor soup whenever someone is sick.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Through the Oasis [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793026
Comments: 14
Kudos: 357





	we all have a hunger

With a contented sigh, Sokka raised the pot’s lid and inhaled the steam, letting it coat his throat and lungs with ancient memories of snow-capped mountains and canoes, of bonfires and shimmering starlight, of family and his childhood home.

Gran Gran’s version of a traditional five-flavor soup was famous among their family and friends. Wherever an illness of the mind or body went, she chased after it, a pot on her hip and a ladle in her hand. She told whoever would listen that it was her dish that returned people to health far ahead of schedule, but that it was not just the ingredients of the meal that opened up nasal passages and eased stomachs - it was the love she poured into each and every pot.

When he was thirteen, he and his father were too slow coming off the water during a fishing trip and were caught in a downpour of rain and hail. By the grace of a miracle, they’d managed to find their way home, half frozen and delirious, with bruises and bloody scrapes on their faces from the shards that poured out of the sky. Even through the haze of blue and black that clouded his memory of that night, the mingling scents of spices and family surrounded him, comforted him, tethered him to the world as he healed. 

A week later, Sokka stood beside the stove in their little cottage and absorbed how Gran Gran measured spices by sight, how she stirred counterclockwise to banish symptoms and clockwise to summon healing, and how she served the dish with all the love a person could hold in their body. Learning her recipe ensured he could always find his way home, no matter how far he ventured.

Now he lived in a city that none of his family, save Katara, had ever seen, and Sokka found himself making Gran Gran’s soup four times a year - three times when he missed the way the snow fell in the early morning or the way his father’s laugh twinkled like torchlight reflecting off blue cave crystals, and once when he unfailingly caught the autumn bug from a customer at the cafe where he worked.

So when he’d felt the beginning of a frozen frog in his throat and text Zuko that he’d be home a little later than usual, Sokka flew through the grocery aisles with ease, gathering twice the amount of ingredients he needed. If he’d caught the bug, his boyfriend wouldn’t be far behind.

By the time he'd arrived home, his temperature was already climbing, and a soreness had settled over his limbs. Zuko had begged him to lay down, unnerved as he was by the lusterless quality of Sokka’s skin, but he refused. Instead, Zuko watched him dutifully, leaning against the sink and passing him glasses of water as he stood at the stove and prepared Gran Gran’s soup.

With full stomachs, Zuko helped Sokka up the stairs and tucked him into bed, setting a box of tissues on his nightstand and a trash can by the bed for good measure. He’d crawled in behind him, tucking Sokka’s head under his chin, and pulled his body tight against his own. Sokka sighed, half protesting at the closeness that he knew would get the other man sick, but Zuko only shushed him softly, pressing his lips to the back of Sokka’s neck and stroking his hair away from his forehead.

For two days, Sokka stayed in bed, curled up on Zuko’s lap between naps as their small television played quietly in the background. He slept fitfully, with only Zuko’s voice to gently lead him out of his nightmares and into a world of sweat and barely lit darkness. When he had calmed down, Zuko would peel himself out of bed to fetch him a bowl of the leftover soup, and tuck him back in when he’d finished.

The next morning, Sokka’s fever had broken, and by the day after that, his skin had returned to its proper glow.

Unfortunately, Zuko’s became paler than normal, and his naturally raspy voice turned into something scratchier.

Sokka had slipped out of bed sometime in the late afternoon, gently moving Zuko’s head from his thigh to a pillow, and snuck downstairs to the kitchen to get Gran Gran’s soup going again.

Now, with the radio quietly tuned to a local indie station, he basked in the warmth and the scent of the steam rising out of the pot, stirring the same ways his grandmother had taught him. Rain pattered on the window, and Sokka remembered the ghost of her hands on his forehead, the murmur of her words as she and Katara cared for him and his father those days after the storm. 

He was so lost in the memories that when a voice spoke his name, it took him a moment to turn around.

Zuko leaned against the doorframe, a rumpled t-shirt pulled over his head and black sweatpants hanging low on his hips, with a red blanket draped over his shoulders and a head of spiked, wayward hair.

Sokka stepped away from the stove and pulled Zuko into his arms. “How are you feeling?”

His face scrunched up as he wrapped his hands around to Sokka’s back. “Not great, but not awful.”

Sokka nodded, running his hands up and down his arms through the blanket. “Yeah, I thought so.” He pulled out the nearest chair at the table. “You should sit down, the soup is almost done.”

As he plopped into the chair in a heap of boy and blanket, Sokka leaned in to kiss him, but missed when Zuko turned his head away.

“I don’t want to get you sick,” he said, a pout on his lips and a sag in his shoulders.

Sokka cocked an eyebrow, amused by Zuko’s restraint, but his heart squeezed at the sadness on his face. “ _I_ got _you_ sick. I won’t catch it again so I’ll be fine. Promise,” he said, offering him a small smile.

Zuko paused for a moment, weighing the possibilities and the truth of his words. Finally, he leaned in and kissed Sokka softly, but an eagerness quickly betrayed his gentle movements. 

He reached up, lacing his hands behind Sokka’s neck and whimpered, pulling him down closer. Sokka gave in easily, following him and pushing him further into the chair, one hand along Zuko’s jaw and the other on his knee. A deep moan escaped Zuko’s chest as he tried to wrap his arms further over the muscled shoulders in front of him, and Sokka couldn’t stop himself from laughing before he pulled away, untangling their limbs as he went. 

“No no no, you need to eat.”

Zuko scoffed, mussed hair in his eyes and a pout settling over his lips once more. “Yeah, I’m trying.”

Sokka rolled his eyes, placing a hand on Zuko’s shoulder and gently pushing him into the chair. “ _Soup_ , Zuko.” Returning to the stove, he only received a grumble in return, which made him laugh harder.

They ate in a comfortable silence with their free hands linked atop the table - heavy rain on the roof, the clink of their spoons, and the crooning voice on the radio were the only sounds to be heard. Sokka closed his eyes, grateful to his grandmother that she’d taken the time to teach him her recipe. It was always an exciting thing for him to share parts of his family, his history, with Zuko, especially considering his troubles with his own family. Zuko shared what he could, when he found the strength, and Sokka listened patiently every time something came up, new or old. He knew that in time he’d come to fully know the mind of the man before him, but he was content to learn it all on Zuko’s terms. In the meantime, he’d offer the story and traditions of his own family as a place of refuge, and honor Gran Gran’s legacy along the way.

When they’d finished, Sokka gathered their dishes, pressing a kiss to Zuko’s forehead as he went. He stood at the sink, humming to himself as he scrubbed their bowls clean, and startled only slightly when, a few minutes later, a lithe pair of arms snuck around his hips and hugged him from behind. He sighed, sinking into the warmth as Zuko lay his head on his shoulder and began to press kisses into his t-shirt. With a turn of his head, Zuko touched his lips to the skin above his collar, and Sokka snorted.

“You’re supposed to be sitting down.”

Zuko hummed in agreement. “This is so much more fun though,” he said, a smirk on his lips as he tugged his collar just enough to reach more skin, as he ran his hands up and down Sokka's chest and stomach, and his touch shifted from a common comfort to a flickering need.

His eyes fluttering closed, Sokka stopped washing the bowl in his hands and focused on the paths of heat Zuko’s palms traced along his body. Already, his breath was coming faster. He turned, pressing his back to the sink, the dishes utterly forgotten. Then he draped his arms over Zuko’s shoulders where the blanket had been, and rested their foreheads together.

“You were sick five minutes ago,” Sokka whispered, a breathless want coloring his voice.

Zuko smirked, massaging his thumbs into Sokka’s hip bones as his fingers spread wide and his eyes darkened rapidly. “But I’m not sick now.” He leaned in and captured Sokka’s lips in a searing kiss, pushing his back harder into the rounded edge of the counter.

With a barely contained growl, Sokka spun them around, pinning Zuko where he stood mere moments before, and thunder cracked fiercely overhead. “Yes, you _are_ ,” he groaned, pushing his knee between Zuko’s legs and trailing open-mouthed kisses down his neck. Zuko threaded one hand through Sokka’s hair and gasped, pulling the hair tie out of his topknot to let the strands fall around his face, and the other balled in his shirt. 

“But if you want this now, you have to _promise_ me” - the edge of a bite, a kiss to smooth the skin - “that you’ll rest afterwards, and everyday until you’re better.”

Zuko gulped in a breath as Sokka sucked a mark into the skin where his neck met his shoulder. “ _Please_ ,” he whined, the particular rasp in his voice one that only his boyfriend could summon, that only his lover could hear. 

Sokka chuckled, a sound tinted in darkness and heat, and pulled several paces away. Zuko groaned at the loss of contact, and gripped the edge of the sink behind him as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“If I take you to bed, do you promise to stay there and get well?” he asked, his voice firm and sharpened with an edge that dared him to disobey.

Zuko opened his eyes, narrowing them at him, and Sokka only stared back with a thrilling smirk on his face and his chest heaving, waiting. This was their game, their give and take, a breaking of rules fuelled by a desire to be put back in place.

Then - “Maybe,” he shrugged, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Maybe not.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow, and slowly walked towards him. Every footstep was heavy upon the floor as his figure filled Zuko’s vision and sent shivers up his spine. 

“ _Maybe_ ?” he said, laying his hands upon Zuko’s hips, crowding his space the way he knew he liked. “ _Maybe_ won’t get you what you want.” Sokka leaned in, teeth grazing his left ear, and Zuko gasped.

“You sure about that?” Zuko quipped, but it was weak, and he couldn’t quite catch his breath, and his head was spinning just enough to make him pleasantly dizzy. Teasingly, he dipped his fingertips into the band of Sokka’s pants, a barely-there touch he knew was light enough to drive him wild.

Sokka moaned against the underside of his jaw, and moved his kisses to his lips as one hand threaded into the hair at the base of Zuko’s skull and the other began trailing a line towards the edge of his sweatpants, where the indents of his muscles begged to be touched.

Zuko’s breath caught in his throat at the contact. Everything ached, and he returned his hands to the counter for balance. “ _Please_.”

“Do you promise?” he asked, barely tightening his grip on the strands woven between his fingers. Zuko’s head fell back, providing him with the access he desired as his hand worked lower and lower.

Zuko’s reply was a gargled whimper, near enough to language that it could have been accepted, but Sokka demanded more. He gave another light tug and paused his movements.

He was met with a whine as a sudden clarity anchored itself in Zuko’s eyes. “I promise,” he whispered, his breath coming in pants. “I promise. Now” - he gasped - “ _please_ , Sokka.”

Sokka grinned, more a baring of teeth than a smile, and raked his eyes up and down the disheveled form before him. Then, he took Zuko’s hand in his, leading them up the stairs and into their bed as rain poured down from the heavens.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “You were sick 5 minutes ago.” “But I’m not sick now.” - https://yoongiandchiminie.tumblr.com/post/164186156665/100-prompts


End file.
